The Kyberkerk of Jedha
by Chyntuck
Summary: The Hunchback of Notre-Dame in the GFFA, taking place on Jedha in the very distant past, before the foundation of the Republic and the Jedi Order. It goes without saying that I don't own SW, yada, yada.
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place in the very, very distant past of the GFFA, before the foundation of the Republic and the Jedi Order. It is an adaptation of Victor Hugo's famous novel _Notre-Dame de Paris_ ( _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_ ) in the SW universe. Given the timeframe, you can safely assume that all elements of worldbuilding you don't recognise are mine (or suggested by friends on another website).

* * *

 **Preface**

A few years ago, while visiting or, rather, rummaging about the Temple of the Kyber during the renovation works that that sought to rescue this vestige of Jedha's fading glory, the author of these lines found, in an obscure nook of one of the meditation rooms, the following word engraved by hand upon the wall:

 _UZH_

These letters, now black with age and deeply graven in the stone with scorch marks imprinted around their forms, as though with the purpose of revealing that they had been carved with fire, struck me deeply. For in the tongue spoken by our ancestors in the days before the advent of the Republic, they form the name of the living energy field that the Jedi call the Force, but also the word that the Sith favour to name the thing they crave above all: power.

I questioned myself; I sought to divine who could have been that soul which had not been willing to quit this world without leaving a mark of his presence upon the brow of the ancient shrine.

Afterwards, the wall was whitewashed or scraped down, I know not which, and the inscription disappeared. For it is thus that people have been in the habit of proceeding since the foundation of the Republic. All traces of our civilisation's past are erased, mutilations of our venerable monuments come from every quarter, and the deeper origins of the age-old enmity between the light and the dark are lost to history. A day will come when the worlds that host our most sacred sites will be destroyed; the populace will forget their significance and it will require decades, if not centuries, to rebuild the knowledge that we will have foregone.

Thus, with the exception of the fragile memory which I here consecrate to it, there remains today nothing whatsoever of the mysterious word engraved within the gloomy cell of the Temple of the Kyber – nothing of the destiny which it summed up. The being who wrote that word upon the wall disappeared from the midst of the generations of sentience many millennia ago; the word, in its turn, has been effaced from the wall of the temple; the temple will, perhaps, itself soon disappear from the face of the galaxy if the new swell of the tide of darkness whose coming began today on Tatooine is allowed to prevail.

It is upon this word that this book is founded.

Gali Juta

643rd Keeper of the Whills

991st year of the Galactic Republic

* * *

 **Endnotes**

This preface is an almost word-for-word pastiche of the preface to _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame/Notre-Dame de Paris_.

'Uzh' is the RL Armenian word meaning 'force' or 'power'.

The 991st year of the Galactic Republic is 41 BBY. You can draw your own conclusions here :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Prologue: The World and the Comet**

In the age when the galaxy was young, well before sentient life came along to give its name to the Terrabe sector and the systems it comprises, a world and a comet were dancing among the stars. The world was small, but beautiful and verdant. With the blue of its oceans and the snowcaps of its mountains, it reflected light like no other and shone like a precious gem in the darkness of space. It was truly a sight to behold as it spun lazily upon itself and made its way around its sun, and every other celestial body twinkled in admiration at the never-ending flow of its kaleidoscope of colours.

The comet, for its part, was a streak of red and gold against the black skies. It ambled across the galaxy at the leisurely pace of a wanderer who has set out to explore the universe, but it was distracted from its path by an unexpected sight. As it came near the emerald world, it gathered its trail like a ballroom gown and took a sharp turn for a closer look, to marvel at its beauty. By its second passage, it was completely enthralled, and when it returned again a few years later, it raised its voice and sang to attract the planet's attention.

The planet did not answer. Was it shy? Was it indifferent? Did it not understand the irresistible attraction its exquisiteness could bring about? No one ever knew, and no one will ever find out. The comet believed at first that it had not been heard, and every time the laws of gravity brought it nearby, it sang louder and louder.

Yet the world was still not responding. It merely continued its journey across the skies, around the bright star that controlled its movement. At first, the other moons and planets were puzzled. They couldn't think of a reason why the world would be ignoring the comet; they commended the wanderer as it chanted its serenade on the way in and they pitied it when it sank into a mournful tune on its way out. But soon they became angry. They thought that the world was being mean, selfish, evil. They thought that it was neglecting the comet purposefully, to cause it pain and sorrow. They resented its natural grace and beauty, and they conspired to teach it a lesson it would not forget.

Upon the comet's next passage in the vicinity of the world, the celestial bodies rearranged themselves to draw it closer and the red-and-gold trail brushed the planet's atmosphere. The green orb vibrated in pain as its surface was showered with incandescent shards that burnt through the forests, scorched patches of the valleys and left gaping holes in the snow of the mountains, but the comet was too engrossed in its song of passion to notice that it was ravaging the one it adored. Soon – too soon – the forces of nature dragged it away from its beloved, and the blackness of space became silent once more as the tune faded into the distance.

The other moons and planets were furious. The emerald world had not acknowledged the comet's presence, it had not emitted a sound. Did it not see that the comet was worthy, that it deserved to be loved? Was it so consumed by its own beauty that it failed to see the merit of others? Could it be allowed to exist in this self-imposed isolation, to refuse credit where credit was due? No, it could not. It would be united with the comet, whether it liked it or not.

They deployed in the skies and waited for the comet to return. A moon pulled it a little over here, a planet over there; the sun itself agreed to divert it from its course. The comet was grateful for their help. All its thoughts, wants and desires had crystallised around the enchanting world. It longed intensely for them to become one, and it failed to understand that the little cabal was driving it to its doom.

The conspirators watched with malicious satisfaction as the world and the comet collided, and for centuries afterwards all there was to see was a ball of flames. The fiery orb raced randomly across the skies, and the moons and planets laughed and jeered at its inability to find a path of its own, until one of the larger bodies took mercy on it and pulled it by its side. It put out the blaze and blew the plumes of smoke into the void, it wiped the soot and cleared the grime, and as its spin brought it to face its new satellite it let out a howl of grief and remorse.

The emerald world was disfigured. The mountains, the forests and the oceans were gone; the bright colours that had aroused curiosity, praise, envy and hatred were now smothered under a uniform, drab layer of sand that the winds shifted around to reveal chunks of the rocky crust jutting out of the core. The once-verdant orb was now naught but a dead moon, a mesa of dark stone amidst a wide crater the only reminder of the singing comet that had loved it for its beauty.

Years passed, then decades, centuries, millennia – and the tale of the world and the comet was all but forgotten when a few hesitant notes echoed across the silence of the black. At first there was no one to hear them, for the age of worlds and stars was bygone and the world of living beings was yet to come. The notes grew slowly into a coherent tune, and for aeons thereafter the desert moon sang to itself in the vastness of the void. It sang of devotion and sorrow, of attraction, indifference, passion and scorn; it sang of the burden of beauty and the curse of unrequited love; it sang of the enchanter and the wanderer, of their ill-fated union, of those who had caused it and of the lessons to draw. It sang of the crystals that were multiplying on its surface and shone like speckles of light against the brown of its sand, and it vowed to persist in its song until someone came to find the children of the world and the comet, to listen to their story and heed the warning in their core.

The moon was still singing when sentient life arose in the heart of the galaxy and the first explorer ships flew past. The mysterious tune guided the travellers to the surface, it led them to the mesa and it prompted them to unearth the largest of the crystals from the depths of the rock. The music grew louder for those who could hear it when the sparkling mass emerged from its natural shrine, and even those to whom it was silent bowed in reverence at the promise of the secrets it would someday disclose.

And thus it was, in times past, that the world we later named Jedha came to be known as the Moon of Melodies, and from the earliest days of civilisation to the Golden Age of the Republic beings came from across the galaxy to listen to its song.

* * *

 **Endnotes**

This origin story of Jedha is inspired from the explanation that Gareth Edwards gave to Collider in April 2016. To quote the relevant bit:

"If you look at the establishing shot of Jedha from above, the layout of it is this giant, circular rock formation around where Jedha is. And the idea was that there was a meteor impact that hit Jedha and it came at such a force that it was what created the Kyber Crystals at the center of that crate of impact. So Jedha is like this very unique place in the galaxy in that it's got a very high density of Kyber Crystals, which is what the Jedi need for lightsabers. So it became this holy city as a result of that meteor impact. But that must've happened maybe millions of years ago. We tried to tell that story in the establishing shot, you see the circular formation and at the heart of it is Jedha city."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter I: The Night of the Feasts**

In those distant times it was seldom that one would find such a flurry of activity on the Moon of Melodies. For all the dreams, assumptions and overweening expectations of those in the Core whose sole ambition was to travel to the desert world and pay their respects to the secret of the Kyber, daily life in the Holy City was a subdued affair. To many of its residents, it was solely about gathering sufficient resources to survive until tomorrow – and, in the harsh environment of the moon, resources were exceedingly scarce. There were no local industries to speak of, farming was virtually impossible due to the nature of the soil, and, most importantly, only two springs were available to supply water to the ever-growing population that lived atop the mesa. Males, females and younglings of all species, armed with all manners of containers, constantly crowded the two fountains to gather a few bucketfuls of the precious liquid so as to drink, cook and wash until the next morning, when they would again have to dedicate several hours to this indispensable ritual.

On the evening when this story begins, however, the Holy City was a hive of feverish excitement. It was not only that a long-awaited ship had arrived from the Core only two days earlier, bringing along much-needed supplies and a group of young colonists who would inject fresh blood into the town's population, but this night would witness one of the most eagerly anticipated celebrations of the year. For two hours, shortly before dusk, the large planet around which the moon traced its orbit would come in front of the sun, plunging the city into silvery darkness. As tradition dictated, the people of the mesa would then elect the ugliest among their ranks to the ephemeral position of Lord of the Budallenjsh, as a reminder that, in the twilight of the eclipse, all beings were equal regardless of appearance or species.

The coincidence of the two feasts – the Feast of Arrival and the Feast of the Budallenjsh – thus generated a frenetic buzz across the town, and nowhere was this buzz more keenly felt than in Initiation Square. A dense crowd thronged the empty expanse by the Gate of Laments, just inside the city walls. Merrymakers had already gathered to witness the election of the Lord that was due to take place on the balconies of Pilgrim's House as soon as the eclipse began; they chatted, laughed and offered each other what few sweets they had been able to set aside for this night of revelry. Meanwhile, meandering lines of workers wound their way across the congregation, carrying crates of supplies under the watchful eye of the Guardians of the Whills. The Moon of Melodies was not equipped with a hyperspace cannon so as to send ships and passengers back to the Core, and any craft that was propelled from Coruscant through the Terrabe Bypass was offloaded and then cannibalised for anything and everything that could be salvaged and reused to benefit the population. The recent arrival was already naught but a hollow carcass on the stretch of desert that served as a landing area outside the gate, and once the metal plates themselves were dismantled every scrap would be carefully apportioned among the residents so as to meet their most pressing needs. The fact that this particular ship had come arrayed with solar sails that could be repurposed to improve the public power supply and provide heating against the constant, bitter cold only added to the sense of elation that pervaded the city.

A young man going by the name of Sinunu was posted near the Well of Prosperity in a narrow street off the square. He was tall and lanky, with ginger hair, bright blue eyes and a face so freckled one would have been forgiven for believing that his skin had taken the colour of the sand, as happened to every being with any form of pigmentation after a few weeks of exposure to the moon's sun. Nevertheless, his attire alone was ample evidence that he had only just arrived with the latest newcomers. The bright fabric and the cut of his clothes were typical of the Coruscanti working class – and, incidentally, entirely unsuited to the frigid climate of the moon. Yet they stood in sharp contrast to the sophisticated tone in which he declaimed his poetry for passers-by to hear. This was obviously a bard who had trained himself to speak the language of the wealthy, and he might even have managed to fool a few innocent bystanders were it not for the cup that was placed at his feet, awaiting the alms of the audience.

The problem, however, was that so far Sinunu was failing to attract any audience at all. For all the time, effort and thought he had put into composing his poems, for all the rhymes, the alliterations, the hyberboles and the metaphors he had so carefully crafted, for all the complex messages of purity, righteousness and justice he had strived to convey in his works, not a single soul expressed any interest in listening to him. Except, that is, a group of street urchins led by an impish teenage girl with dishevelled auburn hair and olive skin. They had settled on the other side of the alley with the sole purpose of shouting, jeering, whistling, and more generally making as much noise as they could so as to interrupt his chant in every possible manner. He was about to address them and request politely that they be on their way when a particularly loud catcall caused the bundle of rags that was huddled against the fountain to stir. The elderly woman stretched and yawned, and her high-pitched voice pierced the hubbub of the street as she shook the myriad little bells attached to her clothing.

"May the _uzh_ of others be with you!"

The street urchins burst out laughing. "Jindi Korkuu!" the leader of the teens whooped gleefully. "Did we wake you up, my fair lady? Should we remind you to bestow your blessings upon the good people of the Moon?"

The tiny bells tintinnabulated again as the woman called Jindi shrugged and swept her long braids behind her shoulders. It occurred to Sinunu that she was perhaps not that old after all. Her wrinkled, leathery face had misled him at first, but he could see, now that she had somehow straightened herself, the lipless mouth and the bony protrusions along her jaw that identified her as a Weequay. His previous dealings with a few of the humanoid aliens back on Coruscant had convinced him that they were barely capable of intelligent thought, and this particular female appeared to be so shabby, so destitute, so covered in filth that she was clearly a vagabond who scrounged a living from seeking charity on the streets of the city. An unlikely audience for his art, then. With a despondent sigh he turned away from her and opened his mouth to resume his chant.

"May the _uzh_ of others be with you!" the Weequay wailed again, so shrilly that Sinunu thought his ears would bleed. "May the _uzh_ of others be with you!" She produced a beggar's cup from under her rags and waved it at the bard.

"No luck, Jindi!" the auburn-haired girl shouted over the ruckus of hundreds of passers-by who were still heading towards Initiation Square. "You've got competition from this gentleman today. And what a gentleman he is! Freshly arrived from the Core, no less, and with ambitions to seduce us all with the harmony of his hymns. I'm told he wanted to join the psalmists of the Kyberkerk. There was just the usual... complication, if you get my meaning. So here he is now, stranded in the back end of space, all dressed up and nowhere to go."

The gang of teenagers roared with laughter and Sinunu felt his cheeks turn crimson under the tramp's appraising gaze. "I am afraid you are gravely mistaken, young mistress," he told the girl in a brave attempt at a dignified response. "My reasons for coming to the Moon of Melodies –"

The teen hopped off the windowsill where she had been perching and came to place her palm on his chest. "No need to explain yourself, friend. My brother is the High Priest of the Kyberkerk. I know everything about you, and then some more. You're not the first one who was fooled into coming to this moon, and you certainly won't be the last." At this Sinunu's blush darkened, if that were even possible. The girl turned to the Weequay. "Anyway, he's been regaling Prosperity Alley with his carols all afternoon. And with such poise! Such grace! Such elegance! You wouldn't believe the level of refinement that this single being has brought to our world, Jindi. I don't know where we found the nerve to exist without him until now, barbarians that we are." Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she added casually, "Your feeble blessings stand no chance as long he is standing by your side."

A malicious smile played on Jindi Korkuu's wrinkled face. "Well then, my dear Genade, I believe that I must ask you to remove him from my presence."

* * *

 **Endnotes**

'Budallenjsh' is Albanian for 'fool'. The Feast of the Budallenjsh is a reference to the Feast of Fools in the opening chapter of _Hunchback_.

Sinunu is the GFFA version of Victor Hugo's character Gringoire, who acts as the narrator throughout a significant chunk of _Hunchback_. The name means 'swallow' (the bird) in Arabic, because the name Gringoire is said to mean originally 'he who brings the spring' and there's a saying about swallows and the spring (or lack thereof) in French.

Genade is the GFFA version of Jehan Frollo, who is male in the novel. The name means 'grace' in Afrikaans, from the Hebrew version of John, Yochanan, which means 'Yahweh is gracious'.

Jindi Korkuu is the GFFA version of Clopin Trouillefou, the King of Truands in the novel. The name means 'mad fear' in Kyrgyz, a literal translation of the portmanteau Trouillefou.

Kyberkerk is the (hopefully) ancient-sounding name I chose for the Temple of the Kyber in the era when this story takes place. I based it on the Dutch/Flemish word structure for naming churches (see for instance the French city of Dunkirk, whose name means 'the church of the dunes').

The Terrabe Bypass and the Weequay species are borrowed from SW canon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter II: The Election of the Lord**

The street urchins perked up at Jindi Korkuu's words, Genade's mischievous grin widened and Sinunu's heart sank. He knew the look they were giving him all too well from his younger years in the alleys of Cannon Town on Coruscant, when he was a frail, sickly child at the mercy of the neighbourhood bullies. Before he could react, the teenagers were all over him. One snatched his bright green scarf, another plucked his bonnet off his head, a third came to yank the buttons off his waistcoat. Within seconds he had lost his belt, his headgear and his pelerine, the cuffs of his shirt were torn and frayed and his shoes were deprived of their buckles. His only consolation was that the hands rummaging in his pockets would find nothing – he had spent the last of his credits on a bunk in Pilgrim's House last night, and the donations he had attracted with his poetry readings amounted to precisely zero.

He pushed back against his assailants with all his might and ran, dodging in and out of the crowd as fast as he could and ignoring the laughter that his dishevelled appearance elicited from the bystanders. His dread at the idea of finding himself in naught but his undergarments – if the urchins allowed him to keep even that, which he doubted – was such that he set aside his basic sense of decency and the good manners he had cultivated as part of his sophisticated persona. He elbowed women unceremoniously, shoved children and elders aside, ducked under a reptilian beast of burden while it was relieving itself and had to wriggle out of the grip of several angry passers-by on his way to Initiation Square. It was a small mercy that the throng was now so dense that it carried him forward, but he could still hear Genade's outbursts of glee and her shouted instructions at her party, and it was increasingly difficult for him to control the direction in which the living tide was taking him. He finally arrived in front of Pilgrim's House and some more scrambling and jostling enabled him to reach the other side of the esplanade, where he dived in the middle of a group of fat porcine beings. The aliens sniffed the air with disgust and turned their backs on him – his shirt was splattered with droplets of foul-smelling animal urine – but they thankfully didn't move away and allowed him to remain hidden in their midst.

He was still huffing and puffing, trying to catch his breath and straighten what was left of his clothes, when a hum rose among the crowd. It started out as a whisper but quickly grew into a thunderous roar as the thousands gathered on Initiation Square clapped their hands, stomped their feet, whipped their tails, cheered, whistled and blew the horns or rattled the noisemakers they had brought along for the evening's celebration. Daylight began to dwindle and Sinunu's eyes followed the crowd's collective gaze just in time to see a black crescent forming against the face of the sun. The temperature dropped sharply in the few minutes it took for the moon's planet to swallow the bright star, and soon the city was bathed in an eerie silvery-grey glow that was neither day nor night, neither dawn nor dusk, but one of those unique moments when celestial phenomena conspire to remind sentient beings that there are forces in the universe well beyond their reach.

The bard's musings about the poem he would compose to sing the praises of the Moon of Melodies' light in the eclipse were short-lived, as the silence that had taken hold of the assembly when the city was plunged into darkness was interrupted by the appearance of a grotesque figure on the balcony of Pilgrim's House. As far as Sinunu could tell, it was a middle-aged human matron he was seeing, but she had rigged herself out in such ridiculous clothes, she had painted her face with such gaudy colours, she had styled her hair into such a vertiginous tower that he could not be entirely certain that she wasn't an alien of an unknown kind. The audience erupted into cheers again as she fumbled with the cords of the loudspeaker while two assistants attired in costumes as ludicrous as her own stepped behind her to set up a black curtain hanging from a crude frame. The noise finally receded when she brought a black metallic wand to her mouth.

"Greetings, people of the Moon!" she called in a cheerful, booming voice. "To those who arrived only days ago, welcome! To the old hands who already know the purpose of this gathering, welcome back! Welcome to the merriest evening our world has to offer! The Feast of Arrival and ..." – she paused for effect – "... the Feast of the Budallenjsh!"

She paused again for the hurrahs of the populace to subside a little and raised the microphone once more. "Now, there are newcomers among us that our strange customs and uncouth manners might send flying back to the Core at the first opportunity – not that there will be such an opportunity, if you get my meaning." At this the crowd roared with laughter. "Anyhow, introductions are in order." She reached for her prodigious mound of hair and tipped it off the top of her head in salutation, revealing that it was merely an elaborate contraption halfway between a hat and a wig. "First of all, you should know that I am Iakova Koppenol, prominent citizen and hosier of this town. On any other day of the year, you will find me in my store on the Path of Judgements by the entrance to the market, one floor up from the Home of the Beatific Countenance. But you should not let the mystics' austere appearance intimidate you! I will be delighted to supply you with everything you need to keep your feet warm, rain or shine." She surveyed the crowd and giggled. "Not rain. Never mind that. Tonight however, you will address me as the Mistress of Ceremonies for the Feast of the Budallenjsh."

"Won't you be competing, Mistress Koppenol?" a familiar voice shouted. "That outfit you chose for yourself is quite fetching! It might even earn you my vote."

Iakova Koppenol laughed. "Sadly, Genade, the rules regarding the master of ceremonies are clear, but I have no doubt that there will be many worthy candidates. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The Feast of the Budallenjsh in simple, one-syllable words. It is quite straightforward, really. Should you opt to participate, you'll want to be ugly, as ugly as you can. Come to this balcony, show us your face, pull your best grimace. Makeup and costumes are allowed. No need to register, we will admire your ugliness on a first-come, first-served basis. Is there anything I forgot?"

"The vote!" Genade bellowed. "Do the newcomers even know how to vote? They don't have important elections like ours in the Core."

Her voice was closer now. Sinunu abandoned all pretence at dignified indifference and crouched behind the porcine aliens to better hide himself from view.

"Oh my, oh my. What was I thinking? Of course, the supremely important vote! Well... no need to register to vote either, we aren't choosing the captain of the Guardians of the Whills, after all. All you have to do is boo the candidates that you don't find ugly enough, and cheer those who did the best job at uglying themselves... or should that be uglyfying? At being ugly in any case. The candidate that elicits the loudest cheers wins. And make no mistake: this is a much-coveted position. The winner will keep the title of Lord of the Budallenjsh until the end of the eclipse, that is..." – she extracted a chronometer from her pocket and checked the time – "... for all of two hours, if we do not delay any further. Shall we begin?"

There was yet another round of cheers, horn-blowing, ratchet-rattling and applause, and the crowd shifted a little to allow the would-be lords of the Budallenjsh to reach the doors of Pilgrim's House. Sinunu caught a glimpse of Genade's auburn hair. She was now standing in the front row of the audience, surrounded by her sidekicks, as far away from him as was physically possible on Initiation Square. Still, he took a prudent step back into the shadows of an alcove in the city walls.

It wasn't a bad spot he'd found. He was safely out of sight here, yet he could observe the spectacle in all its glory – and, while the whole thing was loutish and vulgar, it was also highly entertaining. The first few competitors, a group of ragamuffins who were doing their best to frown, squint, bulge their eyes or pull in their cheeks, were swiftly booed off the balcony. After them came a few older contestants who had tried more or less successfully to masquerade as beings from another species; a woman disguised as a male Devaronian whose horns wiggled with every step attracted a standing ovation when the black curtain parted for her. She was followed by a Twi'lek who had painted her face and lekku with a black paste that was already flaking off her skin while long fangs stretched out of her mouth all the way to her chin. A porcine being of the same ilk as Sinunu's fellow audience members drew particularly loud cheers; the tusks protruding from his jaw were encased in bright chrome, giving him an ominous outlook that was belied by the soft pastel colours of his baby-like clothes. The crowd below applauded, jeered, hollered and shouted joyfully throughout the process, making such a racket that Sinunu half-expected the ramparts to crumble, when the curtain opened again to reveal an alien of a kind he had never encountered before. Sudden silence blanketed the square.

It wasn't so much that the alien was ugly, although his physiology was definitely unusual. His body was ape-like; he was bandy-legged but stood upright and held the balcony railing with his five-fingered hands, yet Sinunu could make out what appeared to be retractable hooves where his wrists should have been. However, his powerful, barrel-like torso, covered in thick dark fur, was topped by a head that came across as mostly caprine, with a long, grinning snout that revealed the single row of teeth typical of ruminants. But what made him truly terrifying in the silvery-grey light of the eclipse wasn't the two tall, curved horns that sprouted from his forehead, nor was it the sinewy muscles that played under his hide. No, it was the half-demented expression on his face, the ceaseless twitching of his ears, the constant quiver of his beard, and, above all, his eyes – two cloudy, pupil-less orbs of milky white that rolled about in their sockets, zooming left and right above the audience as if he couldn't decide where to look.

The absolute stillness that had taken hold of the crowd at the strange alien's appearance – one could now hear the sands of the desert shift beyond the city walls – was broken by Genade's astonished cry.

"By the light of the Kyber! It's Ino!"

The name spread among the crowd like wildfire.

"Ino?"

"Ino of the Kyberkerk?"

"Is Ino allowed outside now?"

"The High Priest let Ino participate?"

"Good on him, the poor thing! That's not a life, always cooped up inside!"

"What do you mean, good on him? He's a Cjap! He shouldn't be allowed among us!"

"He shouldn't be allowed in the city at all!"

But whatever objections some tried to raise to the alien's presence on the balcony of Pilgrim's House were drowned in a deafening chorus led by Genade and her company of street urchins.

"Ino! Ino! _I-NO! I-NO! I-NO! I-NO!_ "

* * *

 **Endnotes**

Iakova Koppenol is the GFFA version of Master Jacques Coppenole, "hosier at the sign of the 'Three Little Chains' of Ghent" in the _Hunchback_ novel. The origin of her name is quite transparent.

Ino is the GFFA version of Quasimodo. His name means 'deformed' in Hawaiian.

Devaronians, Twi'leks and Gamorreans are canon SW species (as opposed to Ino's species, which I made up). The Brotherhood of the Beatific Countenance is also borrowed from SW canon (although the monastic order that is mentioned in this post is a very archaic version of it).


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter III: The Chill of the Dark**

The ovation echoed so loudly across the city that one could feel the stone of the mesa vibrating underfoot, as if the thousands of beings assembled on Initiation Square sought to reassert ownership over their world against the laws of physics that had plunged it into darkness. The entire crowd reprised the chant that Genade's mischief-makers had initiated, and soon it became clear that the proceedings for the election of the Lord of the Budallenjsh had come _de facto_ to an end. Audience members flung their hats, bonnets and wigs up in the air and sang 'Nowell! Nowell!' in celebration as the Mistress of Ceremonies announced gleefully that the mysterious alien named Ino was the undisputed winner of the evening's contest. There was more laughter when her assistants had to give her a leg up so as to enable her to slip the crown around the tips of his horns and place it on his brow, and the throng shifted a little to allow the beast of burden that has soiled Sinunu's shirt to come in front of Pilgrim's House.

The long-necked quadruped's humping back was now furnished with a monumental howdah inlaid with crystals that projected eerie beams of light into the glow of the eclipse. Sinunu caught a glimpse of Jindi Korkuu, whose face was illuminated by one of the shimmering shafts. The Weequay had jostled her way to the head of the crowd during the coronation; she was now standing by the giant lizard and watching the mahout guide Ino to sit atop the carriage. Something indefinable in her expression, in the intensity of her gaze, in the way his goat-like head swung anxiously from one side to the other as if he could sense a presence whose precise identity he couldn't determine, hinted at a form of unspoken communication between the two, but it was only a fleeting impression. Genade climbed behind the newly-minted lord on the back of the mount and unfurled a gaudy banner that hid the beggar from view; horns blared, noisemakers were rattled and torches were lit; and the living tide that had been ebbing and flowing in Initiation Square began to pour out into the Passage of Cognizance, from where it formed into a procession and began its meandering course through the streets of the city. The revellers were due to march across every neighbourhood and share the merriment with those who, for one reason or another, had been unable to attend the ceremony, before finally dispersing on the parvis of the Kyberkerk.

"But I want to go, Mommy!" a child whined somewhere to Sinunu's left. "Everyone is going, why can't I go too?"

"You will not go anywhere near that monster, Stathee, do you hear me?" a woman replied angrily. The bard recognised the voice that had protested Ino's presence in the city.

"You are absolutely right, Lady Kaz!" another woman said. "This is such a bad omen!"

Sinunu looked askance and saw Kaz, a plump, elegant matron who was hugging fiercely a five-year-old boy as if she feared that he might be snatched from her embrace by invisible forces. She shook her head in dismay. "I cannot believe that this is happening, Dora! This Cjap, of all beings, elected Lord of the Budallenjsh? What is the High Priest thinking?"

The bard rolled his eyes. He had read explorers' accounts of how some oft-repeated superstitions of the people of the Moon of Melodies had evolved into the sort of terrifying myth that parents told disobedient younglings to coerce them into compliance, but he had not expected to hear one of those legends stated as fact on his second day. This was an opportunity for him to display his knowledge of such matters – and perhaps to make friends too, if he managed to reassure the two women and persuade them to follow the procession together. Dora was carrying a large plate on which he could discern a few leftover sweets, and the grumble of his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since morning.

He took a step towards them. "Put your minds at ease, dear mistresses," he said importantly. "Many scholars from the Core have studied this issue at great length. They are unanimous in saying that the Cjap do not exist."

Dora raised an ironic eyebrow. "Oh, do scholars truly say such things back in the Core? Perhaps they should come here and have a look for themselves."

"But many have come and gone," Sinunu insisted, taking another step closer to the cakes. "They have written books. There is no proof whatsoever –"

Lady Kaz let her son slip to the ground. He immediately plucked a sweet from the plate and stuffed it in his mouth. "The scholars can claim what they wish, young man, but we know. We _know_. None who wander out in the desert ever return to the Holy City. The Cjap seize travellers and steal their souls."

"Not true," the boy piped up in-between mouthfuls. "The Jevgy are out there all the time!"

"The Jevgy have the magic of the crystals, Stathee," his mother explained. "No one would dare take them on."

Sinunu raised a tentative hand towards the cakes. "What of the scholars?" he protested. "They went out to explore the desert, and –"

"The Cjap know when to hide," Dora breathed in a frightened whisper. She hugged her tray for protection, removing it from the bard's reach. "They want to keep their existence a secret."

"They allowed the scholars to walk free, and now Core Worlders dismiss us as ignorant and gullible," Kaz added. "But if you stay here long enough, you will learn to see the truth."

Sinunu sighed. "What of this Ino, then?" he asked, gesturing towards the last of the procession that could be seen leaving the square. "How could the Cjap be a hidden species if one of their kind is right here in our midst?"

"Have you ever seen anyone like him?" Dora countered.

"No, but –"

"There you are! What more proof do you need? He's a Cjap!"

To this there was nothing Sinunu could answer.

Lady Kaz tugged at Stathee's sleeve. "We must go now. You are a newcomer, young man. Listen to my advice: do not leave the city, and do not go anywhere near Ino, unless you want your sojourn on this moon – and your life – to be cut short before your time."

"And have a wash!" Dora called over her shoulder as the trio walked away, taking with them the bard's hopes for a semblance of a dinner. "Perhaps customs are different in the Core, but no one would sell sauropod urine for perfume here."

A mortified Sinunu remained alone in his little corner of Initiation Square, although there were still a good hundred bystanders in the open expanse, mostly elderly and disabled beings who could presumably not follow the procession in the city's potholed streets. This might be a suitable audience for his poetry, he thought, as they seemed to be in no rush to leave, and he needed to obtain credits urgently if he were to afford any sustenance and a bed for the night. He straightened his clothes, hoping that the chilly breeze would disperse the stench of his shirt, and once he felt ready, he stepped out into the square and inhaled deeply to begin his chant.

A girl appeared on the corner of the Passage of Cognizance and shouted, "Nilamani!"

And with that single word, Sinunu's prospective audience vanished. Every being on Initiation Square livened up and left swiftly through the narrow street before taking a turn in the Long Way and disappearing in the direction of the Kyberkerk.

The bard exhaled the deep breath he had drawn in and ran a hand through his hair. Initiation Square was deserted now, save for a lone silhouette in the far end. He considered asking the passer-by for help, or perhaps just for an explanation – he had never heard of a nilamani before, nor had he ever encountered the word in the books he so loved to read – but the all-too-familiar sound of a myriad little bells stopped him dead in his tracks. This had to be Jindi Korkuu. He stifled a gasp and retreated to the shadow of the alcove where he had been hiding in the city walls.

The Weequay strode past him indifferently, pausing only for a fraction of a second to sniff the air before she continued towards the ramparts. Sinunu wondered where she could be going until he saw her disappear down the flight of stairs that led to the Gate of Laments, and it dawned on him. The portico at the foot of the mesa was likely a gathering place for those who slept rough in the Holy City. It was safe, sheltered, protected from the elements and the chill of the dark. Thus, the bard concluded, it was the sort of place where he should be heading himself. He had been through more than enough humiliations for the day to want to confront the cashier's ironic gaze if he were to return to Pilgrim's House – he could remember quite vividly the sign that was posted behind the counter and read 'No credit unless they're your credits' – and he knew that the temperature would drop even further after sunset, when the eclipse was over.

The thought that he had sorted out where to spend the night was a relief of sorts even in the absence of dinner, but there were still two important problems. The first was to choose another gate, given that Jindi Korkuu had been less than amenable to the idea of sharing a street corner with him, and he doubted that she would be willing to cede as little as a cubit of her sleeping space for him to crouch. This was however fairly easy to resolve, as the Holy City had seven gates that were accessible to the public – the eighth, in the back of the Kyberkerk, was sealed – and the Gate of Light was only a short walk away. The second problem was altogether more pressing: Sinunu stank. He stank of sauropod urine, and the smell was unlikely to gain him the favour of any companions he encountered for the night. There were no two ways about it: he needed a clean shirt.

This second problem was not insurmountable, although it would certainly make for an unpleasant experience. Sinunu owned no other shirt than the one on his back, and the mere idea of wet fabric against his skin was sufficient to send a shiver down his spine. Still, a wet but clean shirt in a sheltered area was better than a dry shirt and no shelter at all. He sighed in resignation and trotted back to the Well of Prosperity, marvelling at how much shorter the distance appeared to be now that the square was empty. A little ferreting about revealed a piece of soap that had been forgotten in a crack of the fountain's edge, and soon he was bare-chested, rubbing his only garment vigorously to fight off the bitter cold that pierced his skin like a thousand needles.

He wrung the shirt as best he could, flapped it a few times to smooth out the creases and steeled himself before slipping it back over his head. It was freezing. There was no time to lose if he didn't want to catch a head cold. He jogged to the end of Prosperity Alley, took a turn in the Long Way and headed towards the Path of Judgements. He was still new to the Holy City, but he was fairly certain that this was the shortest itinerary to the Gate of Light.

The town's main thoroughfare was eerily deserted, a far cry from the hustle and bustle that could normally be found during the day when all manners of mystics, monks and prophets wound their way between the shops, the food stalls, the browsers and the sellers to enlighten the populace. The only sounds to be heard came from the Bomarristan, where the poor souls who had been driven to madness by the vibration of the crystals moaned and wailed in constant pain. Sinunu gave the building a wide berth and went on his way. He had been as eager as any denizen of the galaxy to gain initiation into the secrets of the Kyber, but a small part of him was grateful that his infirmity in this area meant that he would never join the ranks of the insane.

As he went on he could make out a growing hubbub ahead. The sauropod's head emerged from the Path of Judgements seconds before he reached the junction, followed by the thousands who were still celebrating the election of the lord. The sight of Genade's auburn hair atop the beast, just behind Ino who was grinning stupidly on his throne, sent him hiding in the shadows once more. There was a third problem to add to his list now: the road to the Gate of Light was taken over by the procession of the Budallenjsh, and it might take him as long as an hour to cover the distance to his prospective shelter in this crowd. This was something he couldn't afford in the chilly darkness. No matter, he told himself – he would proceed towards the Kyberkerk and take a left to reach Whisperers' Gate instead.

He scrambled across the throng and sprinted up the Long Way, cursing himself for having come so woefully unprepared for the frigid climate of the Moon of Melodies. The outline of the tall, tetrahedral mass of the Kyberkerk against the silvery sky gave him courage, and he was about to dive into the Street of Shouts – or was it the Street of Murmurs? he couldn't remember – when he saw the golden glow of a bonfire ahead. His face broke into a smile. The fortunes were finally conspiring to help him in his predicament. He would go and warm himself by the fire, he would dry his shirt, and who knew? Perhaps he would find at long last a suitable audience for his poems and succeed to eke out the credits he needed for the night.

* * *

 **Endnotes**

The layout I made up for Jedha City in this story is based primarily on the old city of Jerusalem. The various street names are my creation, with the exception of the Path of Judgements, which is canon. The name of the main street, the Long Way, which runs from the Gate of Laments to the Kyberkerk, is inspired from the Roman thoroughfare in the old city of Damascus, the Via Recta (i.e. Straight Street), known in Arabic as the Long Market (al-Suq al-Taweel).

The word 'Bomarristan' was suggested by a friend to adapt the Arabic/Persian word Bimaristan ('hospital') to the GFFA.

The idea that 'Nowell! Nowell!' would be a chant for celebration is borrowed directly from _Hunchback_ , where the chant is 'Noël! Noël!'. A bit of research told me that the word 'Nowell' was used to mean 'Christmas' in old English songs and carols.

The names Stathee (Greek for 'upright'), Kaz (Azerbaijani for 'goose') and Dora (Greek for 'gift') are loose adaptations of the names Eustache, Oudarde and Mahiette from _Hunchback_.

The Cjap and the Jevgy are my creation; more about them will be revealed in upcoming chapters.

Sauropods are not a SW species, but a type of RL dinosaur. I also borrowed the words howdah, mahout and cubit from RL as they seemed suitably obscure, exotic and/or outdated for the needs of this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Interlude: Sinunu**

The only thing Sinunu loved was lore.

This wasn't to say that he didn't care for his family. He knew that his parents were good, decent, kind-hearted people who had bled themselves dry to give a proper education to their only son. His father was a hulking colossus whose superhuman strength was always at the service of those who needed a helping hand in hard times, and as a child Sinunu felt nowhere safer than in his gentle embrace when Papa's muscular arms lifted him off the ground. His mother was slim and petite, but lean and sinewy, with calm compassion and a steely resolve that matched her husband's vigour; she had no tolerance for those who sought to exploit the weakest among the inhabitants of Cannon Town and it was her steadfastness as much as the threat of her man's intervention that prompted the mobsters, the hoodlums and the loan sharks to back down. The workers' township around the spaceport on Coruscant was awash with all manners of criminals whose sole purpose was to take advantage of the neighbourhood's rampant poverty, and had it not been for Sinunu's parents and a few friends and relatives who subscribed to the same values, the situation in their little community would have been much worse.

This was something that Sinunu understood from a very young age, and he admired his parents for their courage and their dedication to protecting the most vulnerable. He was fully aware that he lacked their boldness and determination, and he often felt deep shame for his own pusillanimity. It wasn't only that he didn't have the physical strength to stand up to the ruffians – he had inherited his father's tall stature, but not much else, and he had found himself more than once on the receiving end of the neighbourhood bullies' unwanted attention when his mother and father were not around – but the truth was that, as much as he hated to admit it, Sinunu was a coward. He feared physical pain and humiliation, and when confronted with adversity his solution of choice was to flee. The sound beatings that he had experienced every time he'd tried to stand up for himself only reinforced him in the belief that he was not meant to take up his parents' banner and defend the modicum of justice that prevailed in Cannon Town.

Like most residents of the township, and indeed like their ancestors before them, Sinunu's parents were casual labourers in the spaceport. Papa's ability to carry the heaviest loads without so much as batting an eyelid meant that he naturally found himself recruited on the teams that rebuilt the hyperspace cannon's frames after each launch, while Mama's slight features were often required for tasks that involved crawling in maintenance shafts and ventilation networks that larger-bodied beings couldn't access. It was hard and dangerous work, but it was work – and with it came the income that enabled the family to live a comfortable life, or as comfortable as life could be in the glum environment of Cannon Town. Their home was little more than a shack, but it was a shack that didn't leak when the skies of Coruscant poured torrents of rain on the planet's people; it had windows that kept out the draught and a door that kept its inhabitants safe from thieves and vagrants. They were able to purchase food, clothes, energy for lighting and heating and every other necessity, and Mama and Papa could even afford to take a day off every other month to spend a day on the beach with their little boy. Most importantly, they were able to enrol him in school. Few children in the neighbourhood ever got to complete the initial learning cycle and even fewer proceeded to secondary learning, but Sinunu's parents had high ambitions for their son. They hoped that he would graduate as an accountant or a technician so as to secure a permanent job with the company that managed the hyperspace cannon; sometimes they even dreamed that he would become an engineer and join the research teams that worked to improve the technology of ships equipped with their own hyperdrives. It was exceedingly expensive in those times to travel on a craft that could propel itself autonomously among the stars, and most sentients who chose to set out and discover the worlds of the galaxy knew that they would never return to Coruscant, unless they were headed for one of the few planets of the Core that were sufficiently affluent and populous to warrant a hyperspace cannon of their own.

The issue, however, was that Sinunu didn't express interest in any of the trades his parents had in mind for him. He was a studious child and he always performed well in school – he knew how much Mama and Papa were sacrificing to grant him this privilege, and he didn't want to disappoint them – but deep down he was a dreamer. There was nothing he enjoyed more than being told stories of faraway places and mysterious beings whose existence was documented by those who travelled away from Coruscant and were able to afford the journey home. He had no wish to become an accountant, or a technician, or even an engineer. What he truly wanted was to become a storyteller, to listen to the spacers, the scholars, the explorers who scouted the galaxy, to build with his words an image of the fantasy world that enchanted him and to share it with others so that they could see the universe through his eyes.

There was one tale in particular that captivated his imagination like no other, and as a young boy he demanded that his mother tell it again night after night. It was the story of a fair maiden whom the fortunes would not allow to know love; her beauty, kindness and compassion were her undoing and little Sinunu cried every time Mama reached the moment when she died at the hand of her tormentors. It was said in Cannon Town that the fable had originated on the distant Moon of Melodies, a magical world where crystals came alive and sang, and after Mama was done consoling him and tucking him to sleep, Sinunu remained awake in the dark for many hours, dreaming himself a knight in shining armour who protected the maiden and defied the fates that led her to her doom.

By the time Sinunu was in his early teens, he had taught himself the language of the bards. He was halfway through the secondary learning cycle and he was even able to contribute small amounts to the family's wages through his poetry readings in the weddings, funerals and other ceremonies that were occasionally held in Cannon Town. It was not much, and Mother always insisted that he should save his earnings for his own needs, but he felt that, being nearly a grown man, it was time he contributed to his upkeep; and the extra credits had certainly come in useful when a heavy metal beam crushed Father's left hand, preventing him from accepting more work until his bones had mended. He had brought up in passing with his parents his aspirations to become a strolling minstrel, and he knew that they disapproved of his plans – but there were still several years to go until he completed his education, and he was confident that he could persuade them to come around to his view.

It was around this time that he met a spacer who had travelled far and wide among the stars, and Sinunu spent hours every day listening to his stories in a dank cantina where adventurers of every breed liked to congregate. He took great care to hide this habit from his parents, for he expected them to be thoroughly dismayed if they knew of his new, shady acquaintances; he always made sure that he was home before the end of their shift, and he stayed up late at night to study lest his school results suffered from the time he gave over to leisure. But the spacer's tales attracted him irresistibly to the cantina afternoon after afternoon, and he often caught himself daydreaming in class to retell the stories in his own words, to put them in verse and to create the tune to which he would chant them. It was an investment for the future, he told himself to silence the nagging voice in the back of his mind that advised him to focus on the technical subjects through which he could obtain employment at the cannon. A day would come when he would be the most celebrated of minstrels, and this would be due in no small part to the stories he had collected on these lazy afternoons.

The spacer left once more to travel the galaxy, and for the next few years Sinunu's life felt empty. The man had been an endless source of inspiration for his compositions, and even though he was increasingly prized as a bard in Cannon Town's festivities and had built up a little nest egg for a rainy day, he was now repeating the same tales over and over and he feared that his skill with words and rhythm would run dry. Moreover, his discussions with his parents about his future had come to a head. Both Mother and Father were adamant that troubadour was not a sustainable profession; they had made it clear to Sinunu that he needed to secure a livelihood, not only for himself but also for them, for the time of their lives when they wouldn't be able to work at the cannon anymore and would depend on his support. He could continue to write poems and sing hymns on his free time, they said – but first of all he needed a job to put food on the table, and poetry had never fed anyone. The rational part of Sinunu's mind could see that they were right, and he redoubled his efforts to complete his accounting course with top marks – but the cold numbers and calculations made him feel that he was stifling his true self, and this added to his self-doubt and his uncertainty about his talent.

The sight of the spacer's returning ship in the skies of Coruscant as he headed to school one morning during the last year of his studies brought him unmitigated relief, and as soon as the day's classes were over he headed to the cantina. The spacer was sitting in his usual corner, tousled, unkempt and unshaven, nursing the same tankard of ale as he always did. On the table before him lay a rough stone the size of his fist. Sinunu took a chair at his side and looked at him eagerly.

"Still hungry for stories to listen to, uh, kid?" the man asked. "Got a whole bunch of new ones to tell you, and there'll be plenty of time for that. This" – he pointed his chin at the stone – "is my ticket to a comfortable retirement."

The teenager glanced at it curiously. "What is it?"

"Uncut crystal from the Moon of Melodies, good-sized one too. Worth a small fortune, it is. I'm gonna sell it, and you'll see me here every day."

With the spacer's approval Sinunu reached for the stone and took it in his hand. It was warm and light to the touch, and as he lifted it to his ear he thought it emitted a few notes. He shook his head and tilted it closer. The music was still there; it was clear enough that he could hum it.

The man stared at him in awe. "You can hear it?"

For the next several, glorious months, Sinunu lived in the belief that he was a Jedh, one of the select few whose heart is so pure that the fortunes granted them the power to hear the song of the crystals. He gave the spacer every credit in his possession as a downpayment on the stone, and he took up an accounting job immediately upon graduation to finish paying him off. At night, after Mother and Father were asleep, he brought out the stone to listen to its tune, and he imagined himself standing among the Dreamsingers of the Kyberkerk, leading the choir in a magnificent psalm while the High Priest delivered his oration to the worshippers. He spent every free hour of his days in the libraries, travelling sometimes long distances to read every book there was about the Moon of Melodies and learn about its customs, its mysteries and the religious orders that officiated there – it was thus he found out that the tale of the fair maiden he had so loved as a child was thought to be a prophecy of things to come – and as soon as he had settled his debt to the spacer he began to save in order to purchase a ticket on the next outbound ship to the desert world.

He considered discussing this project with his parents, but in the end he ruled against it. Mother and Father were not particularly religious people, they had little time for tales of preternatural powers that defied the laws of everyday existence, and they always took accounts of the reality of other worlds with a handful of salt. They would not understand the importance of his ability to hear the crystal and they would discourage them from seeking adventure beyond the boundaries of Cannon Town. His mind was made up: he would travel to the Moon of Melodies on his own, he would join the Dreamsingers, and, once he had settled down and established himself in the Holy City, he would send word for them to come and reunite with him in his new life.

The next ship was due to launch in less than four months, after which no departures for the moon were scheduled for at least two years. Sinunu didn't want to wait. He deprived himself of everything so as to be able to leave at least half of his earnings for his parents when he was gone, and he carefully budgeted his needs for the trip down to the very last farthing. He walked the six kilometres to Market Town and back so as to purchase the foodstuffs he would eat during the journey for the best price. He rummaged through the cupboards to borrow the oldest, most ragged piece of fabric that his parents wouldn't miss to wrap them. He collected his monthly allowance of soap from his employer and tucked it in the parcel. He took his shoes for resoling to Father's cobbler friend down the street; he made sure that the clothes he would wear were the newest in his possession and that his socks were darned. He kept a handful of credits for water during the trip and for his first night in the Holy City; he procured a few cheap notepads and styluses so as to continue writing down his poems; and, on the morning when he was due to travel, he waited for his parents to leave for their shift, he wrote them a long letter explaining where he had gone, and he departed to the spaceport.

Despite his experience speaking in public when he conducted poetry readings for weddings and naming feasts, Sinunu was still a shy and reserved man, and he kept mostly to himself during the journey through hyperspace. There was little to do and nothing to see in the lower decks of the ship on which he travelled among a group of faithful who, like him, hoped to be initiated to the secrets of the Kyber. He rehearsed silently the speech he had in mind to introduce himself at the Kyberkerk, he jotted down ideas for poems, he composed new hymns. He was cautious not to purchase any more water than he needed for drinking and he washed only every other day to save on the sanisteam fees. He didn't even notice the moment when the craft reverted to realspace, and it was the turbulence caused by entry in the moon's atmosphere that told him that they had arrived.

His first impression of the Holy City was that it was cold and dark, but then it was late at night and the Gate of Laments was deserted. He followed his fellow passengers to Pilgrim's House, paid for his bunk – he was happy to see that his frugality had allowed him to set aside credits for a second night, in case the High Priest couldn't host him in the citadel immediately – and the next morning at dawn, he washed his face, combed his hair, flapped his clothes, slipped them on and straightened them. He checked that his uncut crystal was safely tucked away in the pocket of his trousers, he rehearsed his introduction speech one last time and he headed to the Kyberkerk.

The vast tetrahedral temple was empty at this time of day, but a tall, hooded figure in dark blue robes stood by the altar. Sinunu walked up to the man and bowed deeply in salutation; he handed him the stone he had bought from the spacer and poured out his speech in a single breath.

The High Priest blinked a few times through the eye slit in his hood and held up the jagged stone. "Quite nicely done," he said. "My apologies, young man, but one must be a Jedh to join the Dreamsingers."

The bard stared at him in disbelief. "But I am a Jedh!" he protested. "I can hear this crystal's music, I –"

The High Priest let out a sepulchral laugh. "A worthy imitation, to be sure. The audio system is certainly well camouflaged. Reinforced glass strips and a miniature mallet, I should think." He gestured towards the altar, where numerous smaller crystals were displayed. They were clear as water, with sharp, clean, geometrical edges. "These are true song crystals. Yours, young man… the cloudy nature of its material is an obvious indication that it is but a cheap trinket."

"But it can't be! The man said –"

The High Priest returned the stone to him, together with one of the crystals from the altar. "I am sorry. I hope that, with time, you will find your way on this moon." And with that, he spun on his heel and left, his long robes floating behind him as he walked out of the venerable shrine.

Sinunu found himself alone in the Kyberkerk, his phoney crystal in one hand, the one he had had just been given in the other. He brought them both to his ear to confirm what the High Priest had said. The stone sold to him by the spacer on Coruscant played its little tune as he moved it, while the one from the Kyberkerk remained silent. It was true, then. He could not hear the music of the crystals. He was not a Jedh. Like most sentient beings in the galaxy, he was a mere Sord. He was also a fool who had been conned into buying a worthless bauble for an exceedingly high price, and he had spent his last credits on a one-way ticket to the Moon of Melodies for nothing.

* * *

 **Endnotes**

All elements of worldbuilding in this chapter are my own fanon, with the exception of the word 'Dreamsingers', which was created by a friend for a lost Force tradition of the GFFA.

The word 'Jedh' presumably needs no explanation ;) Its antonym, 'Sord', means 'deaf' in Catalan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter IV: The Crystal Dance**

The parvis of the Kyberkerk, between the northern wall of the citadel and the cluster of houses that separated the temple from Whisperers' Gate, currently held a much smaller crowd than the throng that had been in Initiation Square for the feast of the Budallenjsh – with his inimitable common sense, Father, were he present, would describe it as 'more than a score but less than a grand', Sinunu thought with a pang of sorrow – but there was palpable excitement in the air here as well. Many in the assembly were clapping their hands to the rhythm of an old-fashioned tambourine whose jingles pierced the hubbub; the bard could sense their trepidation in anticipation of an experience whose importance he did not understand. He circled the esplanade cautiously to come closer to the bonfire at the foot of the monumental staircase that led to the temple's ceremonial hall. As he arrived near a basement window where someone had abandoned a plate of food and a jug of water, he came into view of the spectacle that had attracted this gathering.

A woman was dancing in front of the fire, a woman more beautiful, more delicate and more beguiling than any being Sinunu had ever encountered. Everything about her, every ounce of her being was so graceful, so charming, so captivating – the sparkle of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the golden brown of her skin – that the young man believed for a moment that he was in the presence of one of the fabled angels that were said to dwell on the moons of Iego in the legends of old. Her feet barely skimmed the sandy ground as she bowed, twirled and leapt to the sound of her tambourine, and her glossy black hair swung behind her like a wave of water come alive. The outline of her lithe body against the glow of the fire projected jittering shadows across the parvis, adding to the otherworldliness of the scene.

Sinunu couldn't tell for how long he had forgotten to breathe at this exquisite sight when the reflection of flame on metal brought him to his senses. It was only then that he noticed the copper buckle in the shape as a shining light sheltered by open wings that clasped her belt around her waist, the elaborate set of occult symbols that were embroidered on the hem of her skirt and the long-eared desert felid that stood at her side. Disappointment surged in his soul. Alas! He had not stumbled upon a supernatural creature whose tale was yet untold. The woman was merely a Jevgyi.

Still, it was Sinunu's first brush with one of the mysterious nomads of the Moon of Melodies. Little was known about the Jevgy that wasn't fiction or myth; some stories described them as vagrants, beggars and thieves who were shunned by the sentient community of the mesa while others spoke of them as shamans, sorcerers or even gods – Lady Kaz's comment that they had the magic of the crystals came to mind, although what she had meant by that the bard did not know. The only solid fact established by scholars and explorers was that the Jevgy roamed the deserts and came sometimes to barter and trade in the Holy City, and Sinunu's ever-inquisitive mind was, as always, curious to learn more. Furthermore, as unremarkable as a Human from a primitive tribe might come across in comparison to an angel of Iego, the dancer's beauty held him in its thrall. Like the remainder of the audience, he continued to observe her with fascination.

There came a moment when he understood that something out of the ordinary was happening, although it took him a while to pinpoint where this feeling stemmed from. The dancer had stopped drumming on her tambourine; her arms were now spread out at her sides and she was whirling upon herself in a dizzying spin. Sinunu thought at first that the silvery light of the eclipse, combined with the blaze of the bonfire, was playing a trick on his eyes, and that the twinkling specks around her feet were particles of sand and dust that she was kicking off the ground. Then a melodious hum rose from the chest of a few beings that were dispersed among the crowd: an elderly man dressed in the unassuming outfit of a labourer, a fierce-looking Wookiee with a bundle on her back, a small child huddled against his older sibling – all intoned the same tune, as if an invisible voice were whispering in their ear and prompting them to unite in an improvised choir. The bard's gaze travelled from one singer to the next to unravel this mystery as the music grew louder, settling finally on the Karakal felid that was now lying flat on its belly and cowering in awe. When he returned his attention to the dancer, he let out an astonished gasp.

The woman was still twirling, her eyes tightly shut, her face as immobile and stony as that of a statue. Her skirt flared around her as she spun on and on in an endless pirouette, and – Sinunu blinked twice to ensure he wasn't asleep and dreaming – small crystals were soaring from the dirt and spinning alongside her, engulfing her in a whirlwind of glittering light.

It took the bard a conscious effort to persuade his jaw to close, and he remained there, staring at the scene in disbelief as he tried to process the idea that one of the most outlandish tales he had heard about the Moon of Melodies was true. This woman – this wanderer, this street dancer, this witch from a tribe of primitive nomads – was not a Jedh in the sense that he had fantasised himself to be; she was not like those audience members who were singing to the tune of the crystals that flew in an upward spiral in front of the fire. She had the ability to actually manipulate the translucent stones, to extract them from the soil, to bring them to the surface and to lift them in the air solely through the power of her mind, as if she could wield the elemental forces that had given birth to the stars and planets in the days when the galaxy was yet to come. He reminded himself of accounts he had read of the existence of such a power; he had dismissed them at the time as preposterous fabrications so often retold that they had evolved into old wives' tales – yet he was now witnessing the effects of this power with his very own eyes, and he couldn't deny its reality anymore.

Up and up the crystals circled as the woman continued to whirl. Her steady, regular step to the pace of the singers' voices enticed the congregation to a form of hypnosis, the erratic movement behind her eyelids indicating that she had herself reached a state of trance. Sinunu's gaze followed the shimmer of the stones against the dark façade of the Kyberkerk, wondering how high she would raise them. Would she reach the apex of the triangular pyramid where the Kyber itself was stored? Would she lift them above the city and into the skies? The bright pinpricks danced on the outer wall of the temple, creating the impression of a second starry night against the silvery heavens of the eclipse, a world of magic and enchantment within the only world that the young man could see. He stood there marvelling at the sight and he wished with deep longing that he were more than a Sord – perhaps not a Jedh as powerful as the dancer, but one who could hear the music of the crystals and join into their song.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the appearance of a shadowy figure on the terrace atop the Kyberkerk's majestic stairs – a tall, hooded man in flowing robes resting against a ceremonial staff. Sinunu could only imagine what the High Priest made of the sorcery that was unfolding before this most sacred place of worship; despite not being able to discern his face he could sense that he was casting a disapproving glare on the scene from above. A hint of motion told him that the prelate was going to intervene, but before he could even take a step forward a lugubrious voice cried out. It seemed to emanate from the ground itself of the plaza where the young bard was standing.

"Curse you, demon of the desert! Curse you, daughter of the winds! Thief of love, thief of children! Curse you, curse you, curse you!"

* * *

 **Endnotes**

The dancer's belt buckle is in the shape of the future symbol of the Jedi Order.

As mentioned in chapter III, the Jevgy are a nomadic tribe of my creation who roam the deserts of Jedha. I borrowed the name from RL Albanian, where Jevg is the non-derogatory term to refer to the Albanian-speaking Roma (Gypsy) subgroup. In this story, Jegvy is the collective name of the tribe, Jevgyi is the noun that applies to a single individual and Jevgyan is the adjective.

The Karakal is my (transparently) starwarsified version of the RL caracal wild cat.

The temple of the Kyber in this story is shaped like a tetrahedron rather than a flat triangle with an indentation running down the apex, as seen in _Rogue One_. There's a reason for that, but you'll have to read until the end of the story to find out.

The dance described in this chapter is inspired from the Egyptian version of the whirling dervishes' dance, called tannoura (i.e. skirt) in Arabic, in which the dervish removes several layers of skirts and dances with the fabric as he spins around. This dance is traditionally performed by men; you can find many videos on YouTube if you're not familiar with it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter V: Voices of Ill-Omen**

The dancer was too deep in her trance and most of the crowd too ensconced in the spectacle to take note, but the eerie, haunting scream caused Sinunu and a few others around him to jump in fright. The bard stared at the High Priest in disbelief. Uttering such a vulgar curse was entirely unbecoming of a prelate of his stature, but most importantly Sinunu wondered how the strange, shrill voice that was most unlike Priest Lam's could have emanated from the plaza itself. The explanation came from a young man at his side who, after catching his breath and lifting a terrified toddler in his arms, muttered: "To Chaos with the Recluse!"

Sinunu followed the man's gaze to the basement window where the plate of food and the jug lay abandoned. The sight he found there sent a shiver down his spine.

A ghostly, emaciated woman was looking at them, her head level with the ground. She appeared to be some sort of prisoner, for the window had bars that she was grasping and shaking with her spider-like hands. Her face was the hue of pasty white that comes to only to those who have not seen the sun in a long time; her grey hair was dishevelled and dirty and her eyes gleamed with manic hatred as she stared at the dancer. "Hide your son," she whispered conspiratorially to the father. "The witch will take him away."

The man gave her a pained look and took a few steps away from the basement window. Sinunu followed suit. "Who is she?" the bard asked.

The man shrugged. "They say her name used to be Asteria Flowersong. She lost her daughter many years ago, and..." – his voice trailed off; he merely tapped a finger to his temple to indicate that the woman's sanity was questionable. "She blames it on the Jevgy and she always makes a fuss when one of them comes here. A shame, really." He gestured towards the dancer. "I was hoping to enjoy this for once; it isn't something you get to see every day. My son can hear the crystals, you know," he added with a hint of pride, angling his chin towards the child in his embrace. "Maybe he'll be able to lift them someday too."

Sinunu gave the boy a smile that he hoped did not come across as exceedingly envious and returned his attention to the dancer. Her step was slackening and she slowly emerged from her rapture as she lowered the floating crystals to the ground. The assembly broke out into thunderous applause and several younglings rushed forward to collect the precious gems from the dirt. The woman took a bow, then beckoned to her Karakal to come forward. She placed the edge of her tambourine between the felid's jaws and shooed it towards the audience.

"Thank you kindly, ladies and gentlebeings," she called as all manners of coins began to rain into the instrument. "Thank you kindly for your attention and your generosity, and may the _uzh_ of others be with you!"

Sinunu thought he heard the High Priest mutter "Sacrilege!" over the brouhaha of the crowd that was assembled around the bonfire, but a more pressing issue soon presented itself. The Karakal had reached the corner of the parvis where he was standing, the credits jingling merrily against the zills with every step. The bard dug into his pocket for a druggat without thinking – only to remember that it was empty. His cheeks took a deep shade of crimson. "My apologies, felid," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. "I have no change on me."

The young father with whom he had been chatting gave him a disapproving look and stepped away after dropping his alms in the tambourine, and Sinunu felt that the Karakal itself was frowning as it stood in front of him for a few moments longer before moving along. People were staring at him. His blush turned darker. He thought of justifying himself aloud, but he could not bring himself to do it – it was one more humiliation to add to the long list of humiliations he had been subjected to over the past two days. He took a step back, then remembered the Recluse who was gnashing her teeth in the dark and opted to stay where he was.

The felid soon completed its assigned task and trotted back to its master. The dancer took the tambourine from its maw and poured the contents in a money pouch hanging from her belt. She then looked up and smiled at the crowd. "And now, good people of the Holy City, in gratitude for your munificence, my dear Djali will entertain you. You should know that she is the smartest Karakal on our moon and she will surprise you with everything she can do!"

The audience clapped cheerfully. The dancer sat cross-legged on the dusty street to be closer to her pet, scratched her between the ears and held out her tambourine. "Djali, which day of the week is it today?"

The Karakal raised a paw and hit the tambourine three times. It was indeed the third day of the week. The little assembly applauded.

"Something more difficult now," the woman said. "Djali, which month of the year is it?"

The Karakal rapped the tambourine eight times, and again she was correct; it was the eighth month of the year. There was more applause. The dancer bowed her head in acceptance of the praise.

"Even more difficult! Djali, how many crystals did we lift off the ground today?"

The felid sat back to raise both of her front paws off the ground and drummed the tambourine frantically. The audience burst out laughing and a voice snarled, "Heresy!"

The dancer glanced over her shoulder to see who had spoken, and she caught a glimpse of the High Priest who was glaring at her from the top of the monumental staircase. She pouted her lips in the prettiest grimace Sinunu had ever seen.

"Oh, is it this wicked man again grumbling at us? Well then!" She turned back to her pet and whipped her long hair off her shoulder defiantly. "Djali, show us something please. How does High Priest Lam look at us when we dance before the Kyberkerk?"

The Karakal, who was still sitting on her rear, straightened up and stretched her neck to hold her head high, tilting it ever so slightly to the side and half-closing her eyes to mimic the priest's contemptuous expression. Many in the audience had to stifle a chuckle.

The dancer's eyes sparkled. "Djali, how does High Priest Lam walk in the streets of the city when he stoops to gracing us commoners with his blessings?"

The felid stood up on her rear legs and took a few steps towards the crowd, nodding left and right as if to greet passers-by condescendingly. The chuckles were clearly audible now.

A lighthearted smile played on the woman's lips. She was visibly greatly enjoying herself, and it was clear that she, like Sinunu, could hear the cleric's constant muttering. "Djali, how does High Priest Lam address the faithful when he delivers his sermon after the service?"

The felid stood even taller and began to meow loudly as she gesticulated with both front paws. Her imitation was so perfect that the audience seemingly forgot that the target of the dancer's sarcasm was standing just a few fathoms away and erupted into oblivious laughter.

The dancer's smile went from playful to mischievous. "Djali, what does High Priest Lam do when he is alone at night" – she paused for effect – "and admits to himself that the Jevgy are the most knowledgeable about the magic of the crystals?"

The Karakal lay flat on her belly, rubbed her paws on her eyes as if wiping away tears and cried mournfully. The crowd roared with mirth – it occurred to Sinunu that the High Priest was probably not much liked by his flock – and the prelate shouted, "Blasphemy!"

He stroke his staff on the stone of the temple and stomped down the first few steps of the stairs. His fury was such that Sinunu began to fear for the dancer's safety, and he wondered what the audience would do if it came to blows. But a loud clamour suddenly drowned the commotion on the parvis, coming from the Long Way. The bard spun around to see the light of torches illuminating a sauropod topped with a monumental howdah, where Ino was still grinning under Genade's gaudy flag.

The procession of the Budallenjsh had reached the parvis of the Kyberkerk.

* * *

 **Endnotes**

Asteria Flowersong is a loose English translation of the name of the equivalent character in _Hunchback_ , Pâquette la Chantefleurie (going on the assumption that 'Pâquette' is intended to be a bastardised version of 'Pâquerette', 'daisy'.) .

Djali is the name of Esmeralda's pet in _Hunchback_ ; I only changed her species for this story (in the novel she's a goat).

Both this chapter and the previous chapter follow quite closely the equivalent chapters of _Hunchback_ , where Esmeralda is first introduced as a dancer and then has her pet perform tricks. In these chapters, like in the novel, the dancer remains unnamed.

The fathom is an outdated French measurement unit, chiefly equivalent to two metres.

The druggat is a currency unit from the SW universe. Its exact value is unclear, but given that it is used on Tatooine I am assuming here that it's a small coin of little value.


End file.
